


Cake (Drarry)

by Bridgette_Hayden



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Alternate Universes, Fan Art, Fanart, Inspired by Fanart, M/M, Possible Mpreg, Possible NonCon, Slash, non Canon, possible dubcon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2020-07-29 21:10:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 13,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20088832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bridgette_Hayden/pseuds/Bridgette_Hayden
Summary: Harry's and Draco's lives told through a series of AU one-shots. Each chapter is a one-shot, usually inspired by an image. None of the chapters are related. This is where I keep the small pic fics I share with my Facebook groups. This is where I get silly, sometimes sincere, but often rediculous.





	1. Slyther-In

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All credit and characters belong to JK Rowling. I make no money. I love them so much, I can't let the storied end.

Credit: Image is signed but I can't read it. Link: https://www.deviantart.com/slizerinka/art/Drarry-185990715

* * *

They say his father buys him everything. From his place in professional league quidditch, to his position at the Ministry. Well this was one thing Draco managed to acquire all on his own. It may have taken a potion, and years of apprenticing to Snape, but he could honestly say that he brewed the drought that got Harry into his bed whenever he wanted him there. He transmuted it into an emerald and told Harry that it matched his eyes. Soft-hearted to a fault, the other had been rendered speechless as Draco held his hand and slipped the ring on his finger.

“We’ll start slow. No one has to know.”

The only thing he regretted, was that Harry had no idea how far their relationship had escalated, or the things he did for Draco in bed. But in a way, that was perfect too, for Draco didn’t want to part with his virgin bachelor by day, and his private whore by night. Harry was his plaything, maybe even his best, beloved thing, and his father’s money had nothing to do with it. Draco’s ambition had managed that all on its own.

End


	2. Enchanted Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince Charming revisited.

Credit: https://www.deviantart.com/chouette-e/art/Sleeping-Beauty-304667335

* * *

What if it took much more than a kiss to bring this beauty back to life? He'd tried everything. He'd waited by the stone sarcophagus for three days after ravishing those lips. Breath came, but barely. He felt it when he pried the mouth open with his own, and dared to taste what was inside.

The villagers had gasped, to see him mistreat their prince so, but he knew what he was doing. He knew this body was not dead. He tasted this man's life and breathed it deep into his lungs, giving it back. And still, Draco would not open his eyes.

The villagers had hired Harry to wake their prince, and he would. He already had the body using its organs. Now to stimulate its incentive to live. For that, he would need privacy. For that, he would have to ask their forgiveness, close the doors to this tomb, and climb on top of this still, perfect figure, properly.

End.


	3. That Look

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A boring meeting. An interesting topic.

Credit: https://weheartit.com/entry/331539569

* * *

Draco kept giving him that look. The meeting was boring as hell, and as the new Minister of Magic, Harry had to take things seriously. His job was important to him. But Draco, across from him, knew what they’d be doing as soon as all these people cleared out. His only purpose for attending, it appeared, was using every second to remind Harry of that.

End.


	4. Postcard Proposition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is in line for a promotion.

Credit: Sexy Draco by hpfanatic97

* * *

There was something sacrilegious about a wizard of Harry’s abilities taking a day job in the muggle world, yet he did it. He wanted friends and he wanted to feel useful, needed. He didn’t have to work, but life after losing his son in a nasty divorce, made working a better alternative to sitting in a dark house feeling like a total failure. He illustrated greeting cards. Since his company used a digital platform, the job required an eye for detail more than it did artistic skill. He worked from a database of pre-made art and arranged each picture according to the assigned text given to him. His boss, Draco Malfoy seemed pleased by his efforts.

That would’ve been great, if Harry hadn’t also seen something quiet and intent in his boss’s eyes. He told himself he was just imagining it, until he got the dinner invitation. That startled him. He was pretty sure bosses did not go around dating their employees. He ignored the invitation, only to find himself cornered in the men’s bathroom after everyone had left for the day.

“I’m still waiting for my answer, Mr. Potter.” Mr. Malfoy made a pretense of washing his hands. He spoke to Harry over his shoulder.

Harry remained inside the stall, hesitant to come out and speak to a man who’d obviously made it a point to wait on him. He wasn’t sure what to say.

“Um, I’m not sure that’s considered ethical, Sir. Human Resources...”

“Oh, please. Don’t turn this into a sexual harassment case. You’re a grown man, Potter. If you don’t want to go out with me, just say so. Don’t hide behind Human Resources.”

Sighing, Harry came out of the stall. “It just seems really unprofessional for you to approach me like this. And I’m not gay.”

Draco snatched a paper towel and dried his hands. He kept his back to Harry. “You are as uptight as a virgin on a bullet train.”

Harry went through the motions of washing his hands. It was his way of showing that he wasn’t running away, he was walking away. Draco made a point to watch, folding his arms and leaning against the wall. It was obvious that he admired the view.

“I was looking over your resume. I noticed that you graduated from the Imperial in London.”

“And?”

“And… I hired you anyway.” He smiled, and the thing about it was that it was as appealing as a child’s smile. Not a hint of animosity. But the way he blocked Harry’s access to the paper towels, assured Harry there was nothing innocent about him.

Harry went around him to the hand blower. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“I checked. There was never a student there by that name.”

He was reaching for the door, then stopped. He kept his back to Malfoy, who came up behind him.

“I always research my interests. I knew you were different the moment you stepped into this place.”

Harry stiffened at Mr. Malfoy’s hands on his back. Long fingers sliding up his jacket, stunned his defenses. He tried to turn, to shrug his boss off, but the other man pressed him into the door.

“Don’t panic, Mr. Potter. I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to give you something.”

Harry felt his jacket being lifted and those warm fingers pulling his dress shirt from the back of his pants. “Leg go. 

Even he didn’t sound convincing to himself. Malfoy’s body, so close to his, emitted something he hadn’t felt in two years. His blood heated in response. He’d been celibate that long, and it probably showed. Some people were predatory like that, only interested in the ones who wanted nothing to do with them.

Harry was caught between wanting to take a swing, and wanting to see where this was going. Malfoy surprised him by slipping something rough and cool down into the band of his underwear. It felt like paper. Harry could’ve kicked himself for liking it. 

Malfoy whispered against his ear. “Tell me, where do you keep your wand, Harry?”

Alarm flooded his heart. No one was supposed to know that.

Malfoy pulled back. He let go, taking his warmth with him. The ache this produced in Harry, plummeted him into further confusion.

His boss nudged past him and opened the door. “And Harry, I don’t give a damn whether you’re gay or not.” His wink, was the last word on the matter.

Harry didn’t open the envelope until he got home. He expected something inappropriate and blackmailing, and finally ripped it open to get the worst over with. He’d just have to quit. If Malfoy didn’t leave him alone, he might have to do something more drastic.

The contents stopped all thought. It was a postcard. A wizard postcard. On it, Malfoy reclined in a selfie. Shirt open, hand down his pants, he posed in an outdoor setting. His stare targeted Harry. True to wizard style, his body breathed and his hand moved languidly inside his briefs. Hey lay on the bare ground with Magnolia blossoms scattered around him, and mouthed the words to Harry, ‘Fuck me.’

Offense had Harry’s lips tightening and his hands shaking. Malfoy was a wizard. He must’ve known that Harry was also, for a while now. Harry swallowed, not sure what to do with his rage, and too stunned to take his eyes off the moving photo. A note fell out with it.

‘Mr. Potter, I’m impressed with your work. Should you ever tire of our nonmagic line of cards and want a challenge, a senior position awaits you in our Adult, magical line.”

The thing about the card, was that it wasn’t just a photo. It was more like a video. A pornographic video. Malfoy didn’t just touch himself and writhe teasingly. He completed the act. It worked with Harry’s stare. If he looked away, the image stopped, paused indefinitely. If he continued to look, the image resumed it’s recorded message. In this case, Malfoy worked himself into a flushed, perspiring frenzy as his hand picked up the pace. He soundlessly spoke Harry’s name.

Malfoy’s skin was so fair, it was easy to see his blood rise to the surface of his skin. Harry’s eyes followed it as it moved up his abdomen, rolling up each muscle group until it splotched his chest. His eyes closed and his cheeks went scarlet as he rode out the flow of his climax.

Mouth open, Harry didn’t realize he was panting as he watched. He could practically feel the heat rolling off of Malfoy’s body. The hand moving beneath the denim, was going crazy, and Malfoy’s abdomen and jerking hips told the real story. Harry watched, hypnotically, as Malfoy’s crotch darkened. With his body still shaking, that spot of wetness spread through the fibers. Coin-sized, then going oblong as it drenched the fabric.

Malfoy’s eyes didn’t open until his spasms subsided.

It was 3:00 A.M. before Harry could put the card down without picking it up again. Offended, humiliated, disgusted and awed, his psyche went through a gambit of emotions. He couldn’t get through watching it twice, without joining in, but that was only because it was more sex than he’d had in two years and refused to feel guilty for giving in. All three times. Who was this wizard? And even if he did take the job, how was he going to keep the guy off of him? A wank in the privacy of his own home did not equate to wanting anything to do with person.

But it was too late. He knew that he was going to accept the promotion.


	5. Tradition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The old families are old for a reason. Tradition is everything. NONCON!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Kirsten Rose Bucknell, who sent me the pic. I ain’t gonna lie, I had fun too! :-)
> 
> Disclaimer: JK is a god, all the glory belongs to her.

credit: Warner Bros, found at <https://weheartit.com/Kabuum/collections/100884373-oh-my-gryffindor-hp> (author of text unknown)

* * *

WARNING: NONCON!!!

* * *

They don’t speak of it.

They look like ordinary people. They look like your neighbors. They are not.

They are witches. They know who’s in the coven and who is not. They know which children born on their streets belong with their protection and their rituals.

Everyone in the wizard community knew this day was coming, before the two boys ever set foot in the school. The village watches its own.

From a distance, they’d waited with baited breath, to see what would happen when the boys took their first look at each other. Eleven year-old disgust, amused relatives around the world. Many in the know, were embarrassed for the parents’ chagrin, for these two were promised to one another before they’d been conceived. So they didn’t like each other. No matter. They had time.

At eleven, their despisal of one another, was cute.

At fourteen, it was perplexing.

At fifteen, it was worrying.

At seventeen, it was unfortunate.

The ceremony had to go on. No one knew when the moment would hit, but everyone was in place to act accordingly. Harry’s teachers, Draco’s friends, everyone from the super market checkout lady, to the uniformed officer who drove by Harry’s house every day, was in on it. It was tradition. It was how magic stayed within the community. It had to be done.

Leading up to the day that Draco decided to reach out to Harry and invite him home from school, much preparation and influence had been executed to make that invitation a reality. The coven could smell the boy’s fever on him weeks before Harry went silent. Their behavior around one another became more unusual than it was, with the two never taking their eyes off each other. Not even in a crowded room. Draco would stare until he’d attracted Harry’s attention. He would then walk in the opposite direction. Harry would follow. Undercover witches were always in place to make sure the two did not meet under these circumstances. The moment had to be right.

That day in his home, not even Draco understood his full intentions as he gave Harry a tour of his parent’s mansion. Neither young man was aware of the ceremonies taking place in the basement, and their footsteps being guided to the kitchen. Conversation between them was minimal and limited to only the words that were necessary. Neither had experiences with trances, and so could not tell when they were under the influence of one.

Their closeness to each other fanned the intended flame. Harry was the first to act, blocking Draco’s path in an upstairs corridor. Their confusion, as they looked at one another, lit not only, a panel of wall screens in the basement, but screens in other homes and screens on other continents. It was imperative that the ritual take place and was fueled by the willpower of several thousand witches with a stake in those families, and that magic.

They all willed Harry closer, even though his discomfort was visible in the darkness of his brow. Thoughts, inappropriate at any other time, were now released in an avalanche of unseen obscenity, as all manner of telekinesis stroked him to his full readiness. This was for family, and it was times like these, that they had to all admit to being family.

Instead of flirting with disaster, Draco would’ve ran, if his feet weren’t being influenced by every living and deceased relative who knew why he’d been born for this ritual. Even though he was nervous, even though he was shaking, to have Harry stand so close to him, he didn’t run when Harry leaned in close enough to smell him. Harry’s breath and nose tickled the hairs on his neck. His lips, just under his jaw, were too soft and too hot at the same time. It made Draco feel like he should’ve been peeing, and that was shameful. Something boiled behind those muscles and made him want to release it. When Harry’s tongue singed his skin, his guts turned to hot liquid and drained invisibly out of his body.

He couldn’t believe what he was doing, how his legs fell open to let Harry closer, or how good it felt. When a cry escaped him, it was a cry of anguish, shock, and self-loathing. How could he let Harry do this? They didn’t even like each other, but it felt so good. He didn’t want to open his mouth to Harry, but he had to. He had never let another guy kiss him like this ever, and the physicality of it affronted all of his senses. Breathing another person’s breath, tasting the air inside another person’s lungs, not to mention all the glandular explosions inherent in a tongue that isn’t yours, filling your mouth and seeking everything it could find, was a whole other dimension of knowing them. It was like going from a black and white TV to virtual reality electrodes, and his body begged to feel more of Harry's weight against him.

He pushed Harry away. Confusion for what he felt, for the erection he’d just allowed Harry to feel, had him wiping tears. They both knew something was wrong and both had no explanation for it. Their mouths burned red and they both heaved through sweat-soaked uniforms. Though he made no threats, Harry’s eyes were dangerous. Even as he stared, just as much shocked as Draco, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. They both knew what Draco was going to do a half a second before he did it. He ran.

Harry tore the carpet up after him. They were now caught up in momentum that could not stop. It could not reason. Forward was the only way and everything in its path would be destroyed.

That was the force they hit the servant’s kitchen with. Those white Oak doors burst open as Harry tackled Draco, landing them both on the table. The boys would’ve fought in earnest, had family members not been present to make sure they didn’t hurt one another. Everyone had to get through it. Everyone had to summon their bravest maturity. Thousands of lives depended on how well the adults handled this moment.

Narcissa was allowed to calm her son while others held his shoulders and legs to the table. She patted his forehead with a cool cloth of dripping water. Her soothing words triggered even greater panic in Draco, as his body tensed at its entrapment. If his mother was here, if these people were resorting to this, he wasn’t going to be able to stop it from happening. Tears flowed. Someone, strangers, men he didn’t know the identities of, began raising his shirt and unfastening his pants.

Lucius had to be restrained in a corner. The coven councilors agreed to bind him and allow him to be present if he didn’t interfere. A father could not watch what his son was about to endure, and not interfere. Seventeen years ago, he’d promised to give his firstborn to the ritual. He’d had no idea what it meant to make such a promise until this day.

He took no pleasure in seeing Harry restrained by his own father. When James Potter needed help, Sirius Black stepped in. The ritual was old, and one only saw it a few times in a lifetime. One forgets the power that takes over. Harry’s young body was strong, but the energies demanding he perform, made him even stronger. James and Sirius struggled to hold and to reason with him.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” James soothed in his son’s ear. Harry drove forward, a stranger to all their eyes, like a bull without fear. He had to be held upright or he would’ve dove for Draco without any thought to preparation. At this moment, he was legally insane, and Lucius forgot his distaste for the muggle god and prayed for Draco’s safety.

“We’re all here, Harry,” James tried to stroke his son’s hair. “This is normal. This has to happen. We’re here to help you both get through it.”

As if all humanity in him had transformed, Harry threw his father’s touch off. He kept his eyes on Draco and tried to charge forward.

A black-robed crowd looked on from the boarders of the room. Certain ones came forward to help. When Harry shook Sirius off, his Godfather merely laughed at the spirit possessing him, and grinned with proud amusement at the state of Harry’s wet trousers. Everyone got it. No one had to comment. Brows knitted in confusion at first, but when other men joined to steady Harry, they all saw what would never be spoken of in polite conversation. The boy could hardly help it.

The situation was looked upon as if one of their beloved were having a seizure, and not a single person was disgusted. Harry was out of his mind. He was no more aware of his clothes, or how they prevented contact, than he was of the people in the room. When his father couldn’t, Sirius undid his pants for him. That’s when everyone saw his readiness drip from him, and respected it.

Narcissa, in perfect form, pretended that it didn’t matter. Her precious son was worth all of this, and when it was over, she’d make him understand.

It took several men to keep Harry in a position that would allow him penetration without hurting Draco too much. Without the ability to reason, the mere barrier of clothing would’ve had Harry tearing the other apart in confusion and frustration. The boys needed their entire community for this support, and they had it.

Narcissa’s heart broke as Draco’s face reflected the breaking of his body upon Harry’s entrance. She stayed strong. She told herself, if she could withstand it, he could too. He was just confused and afraid, but soon he was going to understand that there’d been no way around this. He was a strong boy. A good boy.

The table was bolted to the floor. It shook beneath Harry’s thrusts. Some of Harry’s friends had to leave the room. Some of Draco’s stayed. They knew this changed everything, and they didn’t want to be afraid of life after this. Draco was going to always belong to Harry now, no matter what. He could date others, but that would be pointless.

When it was over, Harry was given a tranquilizer and led away. Humiliation had pushed Draco somewhere very deep inside himself and he’d gone quiet. He kept his eyes on the ceiling lights and felt himself detach from them.

In his ear, his mother whispered, “It’s over. The first time is the worst. You will never suffer this again. When he touches you now, he will be himself, and you will want his touch. He has made sure of it.”

She swallowed. “He’s the only man your body will let inside now. I know you. I know your anger will rise up, but don’t cheat on him. Don’t seek revenge. If you try, your body will not make things easy for you. Forgive him, Draco. He didn’t plan this. We did. This is magic that we must hide from the world. Please, my beautiful son. Forgive us. We need this baby. It’s only nine months out of your life. If you can’t forgive us, you’ll never have to see the child. But it has to live, for the whole family’s sake. Forgive us, Draco.”


	6. Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were meant for each other. Harry made sure of it.  
Or, alternatives to the words 'white' and 'beautiful' when talking about Draco's hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a spontaneous drabble. JK Rowling is the genius and I make no money from this.

Image traced to Oh No They Didn't at LiveJournal. 

* * *

*****This is not a new story, I'm just moving things around.******

* * *

Everyone thinks its the color, but it isn’t. Lots of people have hair that color. And none of them have the same effect on Harry. It isn’t that pale spectrum of feather light strands, a color better suited on tiny children or exotic birds. It’s how that color makes Harry feel. It feels new. Bright. Electric happiness. Draco Malfoy’s hair, feels like a new start. Like Harry could always start over. It was a lovely reminder, and it was something unique to only Draco.

His father, Lucius, had the same color hair, and it didn’t make Harry feel good. It made him feel unsafe. That a completely different mind could mimic the quality of something he loved, and not be the thing he loved. Sure, he hadn’t gotten along with Draco in the beginning. It takes time to get used to constantly being confronted with something you haven’t yet learned is vital to you, and that’s why it gets under your skin. You aren't sure that it's really yours and that you can have it. That’s why you can’t stop staring at it. That’s why you stalk it.

There were promises made before their lives began. No one deals with that very well when they’re only eleven.

He has had enough time and years to come to know the facets of Draco’s hair. Whether trimmed to straight edge, right-angle perfection, or allowed to stray into messy, half-curls lawlessly touching his collar, it always held a message for Harry. You see me. You feel me. I am a code that unlocks you. I wear these colors for you, and you have entrusted me to keep the code to your soul.

It was a signal that they both agreed on before coming into this world. I’ll wear our connection. That’s how you’ll know me if we get lost in this whole human farce. That’s how we’ll find each other again.

Even Wizard children are not taught how to deal with that. But that’s how he’d always known that Draco belonged to him, and he’d had every right to be the one to claim him. Even when he hadn’t known, he’d known.

End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Note: I've learned that my stories never really end. Even if I mark a chapter complete, inspiration could still have me adding to it.


	7. Fistful of Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan and Tom meet by chance, reprising their roles. WARNING: Real Person Slash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing, and make no money from this.
> 
> For FanFic_Addict1993. :-)

Credit link: https://metro.co.uk/2019/04/04/daniel-radcliffe-puffs-cigarette-pants-takes-break-filming-australia-9113447/ and Copyright MEGA (?)

Thanks to Jackie Narian for the extra photo. :-)

* * *

***SERIOUSLY, look at pic #4. You can see EVERYTHING!!***

**Note:** For FanFic_Addict1993, who had such positive things to say about Unbearable-Harry, even though it’s a much slower story. Sorry I couldn’t work in the wives, and I didn’t mean for this to be so long, but here’s what came. I didn't know how to gift you this single chapter without doing all the others. * hugs*

* * *

It’s okay. It’s cool. The coin toss was fair. He let Dan take the last suite with a balcony. He would’ve offered it to him anyway. The fact that they both got signed on to do the promo at the last minute, during Rio’s busiest tourist season, when all the best hotels were taken, was already coincidence enough. Since the gig was for charity, there was no point in either of them going through their agencies to buy someone out of their room. Besides, the place was off the beaten path and Dan had given him that bushy-eyed look over his latte and said, “Let’s just slum it. I could use a break.”

Tom knew what he meant. It was nice to be appreciated for his work, but it came with the expectation that they were always in a mood to entertain, always “turned on” for someone else’s pleasure, or worse, someone’s camera. The next four days would be low-key, and a great chance to chill out and not care about having dick to say to anyone. They were both that kind of tired and Dan was that kind of laid back.

The lower hotel room had a view of the pool, but the more Tom glanced out his single window, which were actually sliding glass doors, his eyes kept going up to Dan’s balcony. Maybe he’d go up with drinks, his guitar, and just hang out. That was the kind of thought that made it acceptable to keep glancing up, knowing that the guy was probably showering or sleeping, or whatever he did between shooting. They hadn’t actually seen each other in a while and had lost touch. It was kinda nice to see him again.

All the baggage that came with growing up behind a camera, with a whole other cast of kids, was doing a pretty good job of staying in the past where it belonged. Surviving that kind of fame was like being an honor student, and filled with all the moments that weren’t so honorable, that can never be changed, that deeply affected other people. There was no running away from anything, you just had to keep going. Fans always saw you in those roles. You had to find a reason to stay happy, stay thriving, and stay forward-facing, not backward, and what the hell was he wearing now?

Jesus, the guy likes showing off his body. It’s one thing to hire a personal trainer to make sure you look good in your next gig, but after Equus, Dan developed a taste for exhibitionism.

Jesus, those aren’t swim trunks, he’s in his fucking underwear. ‘Nice legs, Potter!’

Tom laughed to himself. His Draco character had lived in his head for so long, he still thought in Draco’s voice. It was true, Dan took professionalism to an extreme. He fucking spread for a bloke in that one movie, in front of the whole fucking world. Then he just kept showing the crack of his hairy ass, like he’s trying to convince a nation to accept their most unspeakable parts. Well, that was one campaign Tom would let him tackle all by himself. Some of that just wasn’t necessary. Crazy bloke.

Kinda reckless, if you ask him. There was no reason for it. Maybe, after playing Harry Potter, a role that demanded everything a little boy had to give, maybe Dan couldn’t get his kicks anymore unless it was extreme. Unless it did make people a little uncomfortable. Maybe that’s when he felt his most alive. Like the other night.

Nobody planned it. He was just up there, walking around in those damn blue panties, like everyone does shit like that. Tom was trying to focus on a new script, memorizing lines by the window. They both had an early shoot, and there was no point in looking for nightlife distractions. It was an opportunity to buckle down and get some work done. But Dan and those damn chubby legs.

Not the legs exactly, more like the thighs. And not chubby, just not as much definition as those Equus shots. Those fucking hairy, fur-lined yams rubbing together like they were incubating his junk. That’s how it looked when he walked or stopped in a certain pose. Tom couldn’t help but notice. If he squinted, he could make out the directional pattern those dark hairs were growing in. Probably soft as a puppy’s underbelly. Probably just as warm.

Must’ve slacked off his workouts to transform into his latest appalling role. He found Dan’s presence, one floor above him, to be distracting. It was bad enough that he had to come outside in his underwear to smoke, but he did it in the same damn pair for three days in a row.

One evening, at dusk, Tom couldn’t take it anymore. He slid open the glass door between his room and Dan’s balcony.

He yelled up, “Please tell me, Potter, that you have a suitcase full of those Calvin Klein panties that you like to wear so much. The limited view is starting to mess with my stomach.”

Unfazed, Dan was slow to smile. He deliberately made Tom wait while he took a long draw from his cigarette and considered telling him to fuck off. Tom could see the gall in his eyes, half serious, half intrigued. That’s what the public didn’t realize about him. He had developed the ability to not give a shit better than anyone Tom knew, and those eyes flashed his lack of concern so quick, people dismissed it as ‘enigmatic,’ then had the nerve to be shocked when he took roles that basically flipped his finger to them.

Then it came. Sparingly, but it came. That ‘So you wanna play?’ smile. Thin, all too known, crazy-framed, like a wire coat hanger stretched into the shape of a smile, its idiosyncrasies warmed Tom’s heart.

“I’m flattered that you noticed,” Dan answered him. He added, “Malfoy.”

That was all it took. An avalanche of relief rushed between them, and suddenly a sit down chat didn’t seem so far out of reach. Dan offered a drink, but Tom said he was only coming up to check the suitcases. An hour after sunset, both sat stuck to the cheap plastic chairs overlooking the pool below. A few, unsupervised teens swam below, while fireworks thundered in the distance. If they sat quietly, they could make them out across the horizon.

Nothing felt awkward. In fact, Dan’s company was so relaxed, neither felt they had to sustain conversation. With eyes adjusted to the night, Tom lost the urge to tell Dan to put on some clothes and began enjoying picking apart the imperfections he saw in his once perfect and well-formed co-star.

That’s how it started anyway. The six-pack had softened into a pokable paunch, like a normal human being’s and not the superhero action figure so many went for. He liked it. It made Dan look more touchable, like he’d actually respond to fingers caressing him rather than deflect them with his six-plated skin shield armor. Sculpted perfection could be attractive, but it ultimately spelled out ‘fake’ and incapable of accepting reality to Tom. When you needed someone, you needed them to be able to handle imperfections. With the sun down, he appreciated Dan’s willingness to show more than people wanted to see.

Between beers, there came a moment of silence between them. Dan’s cigarette glowed in the dark. With each inhale, the glow of his embers, induced hypnotic focus in Tom. He rather thought the night was like rain. When rain descends, it can lift smells from the pavement that don’t necessarily smell all that good. When dark descends, in certain company, it lifts thoughts that one wouldn’t normally entertain. The invitation was right there, glowing in the dark.

Just when Tom decided it was time to go back to his room, Dan propped one leg adjacent to the other and said, “What’s your rush?”

Okay, he knew this language. There was no point pretending he didn’t. Dan’s slouched posture and open legged casualness, as one foot rested abutted on its side, against his lower thigh, demanded Tom look at his crotch. All the details were muted in the dark, yet that heated center drew his attention there.  
The moment was like a mirage. The promise of untold quenching, overflowing indulgence. It wasn’t real. It would evaporate any second. This wasn’t who either of them had chosen to be, yet here it was. An opportunity to ditch the control for just a few sweet minutes.

Even when they were kids, Dan had the ability to excite him to unchecked eagerness. He didn’t know why. It was just something they knew how to get away with, and that felt so good, it was reason enough to play with each other when no one was looking. He’d relegated it to a childhood indulgence, something his adult life was free off. But Dan’s half-lidded eyes and slow draw said otherwise. He opened his mouth and Tom watched smoke whisper from it in faint white coils. He knew he must’ve said something. They must’ve talked. There had to have been some exchange, he couldn’t have leapt for Dan’s mouth without warning. But those trivial words weren’t worth remembering.

What he remembered was Dan sighing rather impatiently, getting up, and straddling Tom with his full weight. He settled on his legs, planting the trunk of his body as aligned with Tom’s pelvis as possible. They were suddenly both fourteen again and using each other to learn to kiss. They’d gone behind a trailer on set, on a dare, and made out as much as any kids know how to make out. They’d had no idea what they were risking back then, or how lucky they’d been that no pictures ever surfaced of such reckless disregard. But there was no giddiness like being allowed to touch Dan any way he wanted to.

His stomach did somersaults and his hard-on went into overdrive at the memory of fishing around through Dan’s zipper and making him squirm. At the time, in his immature mind, a part of him bought into the whole Dan as Harry mentality. On one level, this really was the special Boy Who Lived and no matter how fake the story was, people treated Dan with all the love and adoration that Harry had earned for himself as a hero. And Tom shared that love, that spotlight, not just because he played Draco, but because Dan really liked him. Dan was really a super cool guy, who let him do this, and who touched Tom back. The best time, when they were sixteen and sharing a trailer, and one night Dan spontaneously turned off their television to lay back and say that Tom could do whatever he wanted to him, had been the best.

They didn’t do anything stronger than kissing and grinding their crotches together with their pants open, but it was better than the time Tom lost his virginity with a girl. Way better.

Now, at twenty-five, he was tasting Dan’s lips in earnest. Their heat was too hot to slow down, so he knew he had to burn every sensation he could into his memory if he wanted to hang on to it. Pleasure like this didn’t stand still. It streaked through the body like lightning, leaving you dazed. Dan was now a much better kisser, not that Tom had ever complained. They both had enough experience now to know what they really wanted. Aggressive kisses and the wettest slurping would’ve once been the order of the day. Now, there was surprising gentleness as Dan worked his strong jaw. He was so smooth about it, Tom had to let him take the lead and opened to make sure he could go as deeply as he wanted while still enveloping Dan’s tongue in a snug suction.

Below the neck, their bodies were shaking with excitement that leaked from them. But Dan’s attention to his kisses reigned it in, and Tom suddenly appreciated all the girls Dan must’ve practiced on in order to learn that kind of skill. He was tempted to blurt how impressed he was. In movies, Dan never seemed to look like he knew what the hell he was doing. But maybe that was deliberate. Whatever the case, Dan ground himself down, as if he was going to try to walk up Tom’s body by contracting the muscles in his thighs and hanging on.

To keep from coming too soon, Tom pushed himself up, forcing Dan to stand. Their kissing barely broke, but surged together again when Dan threw himself into Tom’s arms. The other held their pelvises apart by putting a fist length between them that went straight for Dan’s hard-on. Tom bunched it through the fabric and gushed as he felt it roll thickly in the folds. The real reward was Dan’s moan as it burst from him, distracting him from his kisses. His body went slack against Tom under the workings of the other’s hand. Even in the dark, Tom saw spittle bubble at the corner of his lips as his eyes fogged over in abandon of their faculties. He hung on to a fistful of spongy engorgement, kneading it into something harder, rounder, and straining to come out of that fabric.

This was what he’d wanted, and he hadn’t even known it. There was only ever going to be one boy-wonder. One, Boy Who Lived, and he had him right in his hands. The world would be appalled if they knew he could make Harry Potter come out of his mind. Nobody was privileged to these “Yes, fuck, yesssss!” coming out of Dan’s mouth. Nobody. No matter what he did with his girlfriends, his wife, whatever life held for him, he gave this to Draco. For these few sweet moments, they didn’t have to live by the rules of Dan and Tom. They were bitter rivals again, caught alone in some isolated corner of the castle, caught needing what the other wanted, whether they liked each other or not. Curiosity and pleasure were so real, spilling from them so helplessly, that their own arousal felt like it could’ve been against their wills.

When it wasn’t enough to have anything separating his skin from Dan’s, his fingers pushed their way under elastic and found the satin, swollen organ they were seeking. Dan’s body danced from the touch as Tom took over kissing and stroked him to his fullest length. Just as Dan tensed, like a coil wounding down on itself, getting ready to spring, Tom went for his testicles. His own sense of adventure surprised him. He could remember positioning his cock to stroke there as Dan lay beneath him. If done with the sac sliding against the underside of his cock, the sensation brought them both to orgasm. It made him wish they were nearer to a bed, but he knew things were burning too hot to expect to get that far.

It reminded him that all this feeling, all this gluttonous delight, was about to end. He let his hands go crazy, plunging more deeply into the shadowy recesses of Dan’s hairy ass than he ever had before. A bit squeemish, he’d never had the courage to traverse that dark terrain, but right now he wanted as much of it as he could get.

This flood of passion was such a wild card between them, neither knew when or if it would happen again. Now that he wasn’t a child anymore, he knew that only good could come from exploring Dan’s body that way. So he let his hands go where they’d never gone before. He wiggled his fingers deeper between the narrow passage of Dan’s thighs and relished the damp, puckered walls grazing him. Dan jerked to get away from his hand. They wrestled in that way until he practically had to hold the other up to keep him from sinking in a pool of wincing rapture.

When Dan’s strong thigh muscles locked Tom from the front, Tom pulled out his hands and went behind the back, attacking those cheeks in a way he had not had the gumption as a teen. He slid over the mounds of Dan’s ass, pushing the underwear band down and spread him like he meant it. Dan’s gasp told him how unexpected it was, told him how much he liked it, and told him that the night air, touching him in exactly that hidden spot, was a total shock. When they both registered the thrill of such a shock, they realized this was why they did it.

Between two people who had grown up to see and experience so much, so soon, with all the expectations surrounding them, shock value was a highly prized commodity. Who else could they get this from, but each other. It brought something undefinable to the experience. Tom’s fingers dove before Dan could keep him out. He didn’t get inside, but he got far enough that Dan couldn’t stand and keep him out at the same time. It wasn’t as much a denial as it was an overload of sensation. Dan’s body bent backwards as Tom pushed against his sphincter muscles the way he would’ve pushed across the fabric concealing a girlfriend’s clitoris. Dan gave him the same result. Tom pulled him up against the railing of the balcony and trapped him, with one hand exercising the ring of muscles he couldn’t get past, and the other making sure Dan’s erection lay crushed against his thigh so that it had enough friction to pinch and slide as his digging fingers forced Dan to run from them has he thrust into Tom’s thigh.

As if it were a competition, and Dan didn’t like losing, he went after Tom’s zipper. Tom was tempted to push his hands away, but knew he couldn’t say no when Dan’s hand took him and pulled him out. He was afraid of this, but he couldn’t stop it. Dan pulling on him meant that it was all going to end too soon and he just wanted to keep Dan whimpering and riding his thigh. For some reason, this kind of frustrating friction, was way more satisfying than going for the kill. The pleasure lasted longer and he didn’t want it to end. But Dan’s grip said that he was determined to end it while it was at its peak.

Through his orgasm, Tom kept his eyes open because he didn’t want to miss Dan’s. There was nothing like the color blistering those beautiful, open lips. Or the flush traveling up Dan’s chest, into his neck and cheeks. He couldn’t miss the epileptic helplessness that bared the other’s soul when Dan’s entire body locked on the blade of his pleasure and sent him trembling against Tom. There was nothing like Dan’s orgasms to make Tom realize how violent all that bliss really was. And Dan bore it so well, unable to open his eyes until the worst of the aftershocks were gone.

That was two days ago. Tom sat by the sliding doors, bored with his script and done with breakfast. It was 9:34 AM. In exactly twenty-six minutes, Dan would come out for his morning smoke. He’d still have sleep in his eyes, bed hair, and dreams clouding his vision. He wouldn’t be awake. But he’d be wearing those damn blue shorts and dragging on his cigarette like it gave off oxygen, and that’s all Tom wanted to see before catching his flight.

Somewhere between the other night and now, he’s learned that the underwear is part of a contract. Dan doesn’t have a suitcase full of them, but he does have a FedEx box full, delivered by his agency, in response to letting himself be filmed in a pair for four seconds, giving Calvin Klein all the advertising advantage the conglomerate desired. Now he’d be getting boxes full of them for the rest of his life, and he disposed of them the way people disposed of tissue paper. In fact, Draco had not been able to leave without an armful of plastic bundled sleeves of them.

Nice, Potter. Generous to a fault.

They didn’t talk about it. They didn’t have to. It was understood. Harry would always have something Draco wanted. And Draco couldn’t leave him alone until he gave it to him.


	8. Enchanted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco surprises everyone.

Credit: Cody Fern is the real beauty, no discredit to him.

https://www.vogue.com/vogueworld/article/cody-fern-paris-fashion-week-louis-vuitton-lace-top

* * *

All eyes turned. The last of which was Lucius Malfoy, to see his son enter the fundraiser as promised. Not giving a damn what anyone thinks. He didn’t know what to make of his son’s charm. Instead of holding up the wall, Draco worked the room, going from table to table, mentioning all of the Minister's constituents by name, and lavishing them in the spotlight of his smile. Dry, conservative Purebloods were caught off guard by his attention.

This youngest Malfoy was not known for escaping his father’s shadow. And the rumors were true. He was beautiful. His eccentricities were forgiven because he pulled it off quite powerfully. Talk changed from policies, to Draco’s ability to shmoosh the pants off the bourgeois. Guests doubled their donations when he stopped at their tables. Trippled, when he let it be known that he could be persuaded to dance. By the time the fundraiser exceeded its goal by two million galleons, at the strike of midnight, no one was talking politics. Everyone was talking Draco. 

Lucius sat in a corner, nursing his drink. There were so many people fawning over his son, Narcissa had to tactfully turn them away. When Harry Potter walked up to Draco and asked him to dance, a hush fell over the room. Something shifted in the air, and everyone's heart stopped when Draco took a second too long to answer. Every one saw it. Up until that moment, the evening had been a well-mastered joke, a frivolous bid to shut people up, or give them something worth gossiping about. No one said Harry was going to take an interest. No one warned him that Harry, of all people, would like what he saw, and want more. Draco quickly regained his composure, but not before letting every onlooker, and every camera, see how truly unprepared he was for Harry's invitation. They took the dance floor together. Guests moved out of the way, letting them have the center. The resulting photo would make headlines in both the Wizarding world as well as the Muggle one.

Lucius reflected on the hidden talent revealed to him. The joke was on Draco. Magic and power came in many forms. Now that he knew he had a son who could bring wealth and influence to their backyard, he wasn’t going to let those gifts go to waste. If he had to pretend to be upset with Draco’s choices, in order to trigger such a spectacular display of rebellion, then he would. Voters were lining up to dance with that magic.

End

___

Yes, Draco is plenty masculine, but you know Narcissa put him in dresses when no one was looking. (That’s not a dress in the pic)


	9. Public Display

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Harry strays, Draco has to assert his dominance. WARNING: Dub-con theme, but has a happy ending.

Source link for the beautiful curly-haired man, Israel Duffus: [http://pikord.com/account/dajhrast59/425449633456597800](https://l.facebook.com/l.php?u=http%3A%2F%2Fpikord.com%2Faccount%2Fdajhrast59%2F425449633456597800%3Ffbclid%3DIwAR20Nlv4oGtd3EuBH4fPQpljLc708thKPHKtRJq0wCGtkQRZGqHGnxRcFTQ&h=AT2SD0ujbCfg7IlO-8nc95bQCy14tZfxuJYknNzyQUz7nisibbcvDAHbyFdFjGf66SDsegtk0n7bg7ek1DjE5kQgsToodXR2S_aV7zS-_vghUqa1Nfd1WaZhgw1rPjLqZhfZBmzwG84FsKQ5-xnlfw) and Kimme Carlos’ Facebook page.

Credit Dan: [https://nationalpost.com/entertainment/daniel-radcliffe-leaves-the-ghost-of-harry-potter-behind-with-the-woman-in-black](https://nationalpost.com/entertainment/daniel-radcliffe-leaves-the-ghost-of-harry-potter-behind-with-the-woman-in-black?fbclid=IwAR2nuKb3vgaWPx8y5E5UsyLX7ChCmCkPzgQjlyY1_H85OWbpJ3_V1nVWTx4)

Source link for Tom: [https://weheartit.com/entry/119626185](https://l.facebook.com/l.php?u=https%3A%2F%2Fweheartit.com%2Fentry%2F119626185%3Ffbclid%3DIwAR2zPmZeHtf_mYeXCzy4XRz85GMyE-svE-u2SIUXnXGCPswff4tEjwy-w_Y&h=AT12ONPzgZ6MS0V71qAquaPxER0_FbuAImv_ltj1W12GBXz9cicNbHa9dwqtOk43C8l_wqrn1FJbAdX6S4KtUKJFq4pwdCulxhyindLXufGMsmVDxDLNiVILKHSj5Jb57wraaEfKUZcv4sNTNgNmag)

* * *

Israel.

It was only one random weekend, and Harry confessed. But Draco has to keep seeing this Caribbean beauty ask Harry to dance every year, at the International Wizard Coalition. Will he shore up and profess his love, or will he watch this man waltz Harry right out of his life?

For Harry, his secret relationship with Draco has been a source contention for years. The stability is great, but constant concealment from Draco's father is growing stale and tempting him to look for excitement with someone far removed from the reputation and power-hungry confines of the Malfoy family. The one year that Draco cannot attend the convention, Israel offers to escort Harry around the island of Barbados for the next two weeks. Leary of their history, but longing for the fun and spontaneity that he can't get anywhere else, he agrees. After that, he knows it's just a matter of time before Draco's informants tell him what's going on. He just hopes that Draco shows up in time to stop him from making another mistake.

Fast forward. Harry does end up sleeping with Israel. In fact, he was getting porked discreetly from a curtained ballroom landing, with Israel behind the curtain, without anyone catching on. Schmoozing was a bitch. Then Draco walked in. His eyes met Harry's from below. He spotted the movement behind the curtain. He not only confronted Harry, but drug him out of the ballroom in a very public argument that reaches the newspapers back home. They argue into the streets. They argue down by the yachts. Harry wants to get away from Draco, but Draco pursues him with punishing retribution.

Insane with jealousy, and not willing to be outdone, Draco's pursuit forces Harry into a public pavilion filled with shoppers and tourists. There, backed against a pillar, with distracted people all around them, Draco uses the chaos of the crowd to trap Harry and prove that he is every bit as adventurous as Israel. Harry is super angry because Draco has snatched his wand and broken it on purpose. He pins Harry and takes him right there, with only the shadow of a pillar between them and the public. It isn't that people do not see, it's that they've learned to mind their own business where couples are concerned. There is no dangerous dispute like a domestic dispute, and a crazed man willing to drag is boyfriend through the streets to assert his dominance.

Draco uses violent magic to physically overpower Harry. Crushed against concrete, Harry endures the worst of Draco’s intimate assault, not because he is completely helpless, but because he understands how badly he has fractured Draco’s pride. Between locked eye contact, and thrusts that Harry refuses to scream against, their fight escalates to tested loyalty, as Harry ultimately lets Draco have the revenge he wants. Amid the stink of the market, the noise of passersby, and a background of activity, Draco spits obscene whispers into Harry’s face and tears kisses from his mouth that are meant to alarm Israel the next time he sees Harry. He wants people to be concerned for Harry’s safety, to slip him counseling cards and abuse hot lines. When they see the beautiful blush of purple-red along Harry’s pristine lips, he wants them to think of him.

In the end, Harry is pissed but Draco proves his point so well, and the orgasm is so strong, that he doesn’t try to run when Draco moves off of him. He can’t. His body is still curled in on itself and cringing in the aftershock of the best sex he’s ever had. Appalled at their behavior, he has no more fight in him. Head down, face hidden, he lets Draco summon a car and goes back to the hotel with him. He never sees Israel ever again. But when this is behind them, when Draco comes clean with his family, and they are married, he seeks out places like this. Crowded, dim places, where people have too much going on to care about them, and begs Draco to do it again.


	10. Marry Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the morning after, and Harry feels great.

Image from Tom_22_Felton instagram

* * *

Not many people have a photo of the moment that made them decide. Harry knew, that morning, on top of that mountain, with no one else around, that he wanted this beautiful soul for his husband. He let Draco take the picture, none the wiser.

That gold dawn, it wasn't coming from the sun. It was coming from Draco. A night of first touches, of lovemaking as honey-colored in amber lamplight, as the morning that greeted them. A little shy, a little nervous that they'd only imagined fitting so well against each other, they awoke as the couple they were meant to be. He couldn't settle for this one time. All of his days should be this glorious.


	11. Silent Draco

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco has the worst timing ever.

Credit:

Artist: Chouette-e and signature

Credit link: [https://www.deviantart.com/…/art/the-name-of-his-love-29910…](https://www.deviantart.com/chouette-e/art/the-name-of-his-love-299103311?fbclid=IwAR0HWL16eDcpOK_-6lvToe7dGRYvIqRwmOxHG8Og5BAJ0eEUnrEdCQI22xU)

* * *

Draco tries not to be noticed. He tries not to attract attention. He knows that’s not what Harry needs right now.

Harry, who is a mental mess. He’s still recovering from the war. Taking care of his first child demands so much that Draco is willing to do everything he can to assist. He moved in to help him, not to fall in love with him. Everyone thinks they’re a couple, but Draco knows differently. What happened between them, only happened once, and was never supposed to happen a gain. So how can he tell him there’s another child on the way?

***

Harry risks opening up to his father and his friends.

“He’s gone quiet. He won’t even look at me.”

James offers, “Try talking to him.”

Remus contributes, “Try holding him.”

Sirius blurts, “Try putting it in,” and winks at Harry.

It’s fun for a second, but it doesn’t solve his problem. When Draco thinks no one is looking, Harry catches him, head down and absorbed in thoughts he’s unwilling to share. He doesn’t even realize that Harry has been staring at him for ten minutes, wondering how to break through his misting silence.

End.


	12. CLIMAX!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry overpowers Draco. This is a look at one of the most climactic moments of all the movies put together, which is so understated, that I'm highlighting it here. This is more of a PIC-enthusiastic discussion than Fic. But hey, straight from my imagination. My fourteen year-old self is like, 'This is better than barbies!' yes, I played with barbies for as long as I could. Fanfiction is now my barbies. :-)

Source link: [https://giphy.com/gifs/harry-potter-hp-draco-malfoy-XceCBzLVuAqju](https://giphy.com/gifs/harry-potter-hp-draco-malfoy-XceCBzLVuAqju?fbclid=IwAR3w051OoYNTqhmnTlHGsbRJiCKcn7rQx8oSbc5A2Urur2wWf7FV_kgJ2pU)

* * *

(This is taken directly from my post in FB Drarry. It deserves to live here.)

## That beautiful boy...

This is probably the best Drarry scene in the movie. (Nope! I’m wrong, it’s the second best. The first is where Harry saves Draco from the fire)

This scene is two seconds long. So thank God someone slowed this scene down. Please help me take it apart and discuss every delicious, poignant, detail. Is it just me, or does this get more and more erotic as you view it in slow motion? This is why I love heavy, plot-driven fics, because the more you believe in their struggle, the more you have to care about them. And don't forget, they actually touch! I think they only do so maybe three times in all the movies put together!! Oh, the slow burn.

When Draco is hurt, compassion comes pouring out of me. When Harry is angry, I stand back and watch him use power that no one sees coming, least of all Draco. When these two get together, the fireworks are spectacular! Just look at the hurt and defeat on Draco's face. After being such a two-dimensional character for so long, he shines in his suffering, and Harry goes from nice-guy to badass in one second! Draco is just so unprepared. He's in shock over the intensity of Harry's energy. He never saw it coming, and learned nothing from the Sectumsempra spell that demonstrated Harry does not f**k around. My heart breaks for him. He’s all talk, beauty, and anxiety, but Harry goes for the kill. I love his dominance. I love that Draco needs his protection.

That blond little bully has grown up to be such a willowy, pristine trophy husband. The distance he put between himself and those less "pure" has only made him soft and vulnerable against them. Harry becomes his "muscle" in many ways. But he isn't weak. When tested, he will strike and he's always got Harry's back. He becomes Harry's reward and triumph over all things pureblooded.

Hell yes, the passion is hot. I want Draco knocked the bleep up! But not right away. I want him to be too proud to admit what he feels that he complicates everything. I want him always to be slender, elegant, and rich, next to Harry’s lackluster, common willingness to rub elbows with anyone. I want him to fit into Harry’s world like a square peg in a round hole, so that there is no rest to the challenges of their love.

And I want their parents all to have survived and be sooooo meddlesome in their relationship! They all lose their minds over the grandchild and get really bossy, making the boys feel like they don't know what they're doing. Which adds to Draco's and Harry's marriage stress and the sex gets even more complicated because those urges don't go away just because you're pissed. Gods, this really is better than barbies!

In fact, I shouldn’t say this, but I’m dying to tell someone. In my current fic, Mrs.Weasley will be the first to realize Draco’s expecting, through old-fashioned house-wife means (She has methods of keeping track on the females in her family. Children are everything!). She will cunningly confront him with it in private, just to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid like abort it. Her manipulation works!

She gets tough and her message is: “As long as you know, that I know about the baby, you won’t make any rash decisions. If I pretended not to know, you’d do something stupid and think you’ve gotten away with it. You may hate me now, but I’ve just saved you a lifetime of regret.” (This is so dynastic to me! Prime time soap opera!)

(Draco and Harry are very troubled in this fic, and it’s not just about them. It does not fit the pattern I’ve described above, so I didn’t link it this time).

You know, mpreg is the height of bliss. Some people just can’t soar that high.

I had to talk about this scene. It’s the essence of so much excitement and complexity between them.

Hope it was fun for you too. <3


	13. Power Couple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The years have been good to Draco and Harry.

Credit: Signed “BON” and sourced from here: [https://pm1.narvii.com/6837/5d585d1bf0dfe74e96f378d9d524d6b57cf022f6v2_hq.jpg](https://pm1.narvii.com/6837/5d585d1bf0dfe74e96f378d9d524d6b57cf022f6v2_hq.jpg?fbclid=IwAR3wIBi09bpmFUcSp5LuMTpsLaCifC9iWj-Sod6qh48rWfI-0kbrq5zW9nc)

* * *

Twenty years after the battle, Harry and Draco are an established couple. When they walk into a room, they still stop every conversation. All are silenced by envy.

At a potions convention, Draco must travel without his husband. He carries himself like the prime real estate that his body is, and dresses to represent excellence in life. He is that grateful for his happiness. Other wizards are intimidated by his immaculate good looks, which exude influence and power. What they don't know is, when he's alone in his hotel room, missing his husband, he’s glad that no one can see him unroll an old, wrinkled T-shirt he has brought. He’s made sure that it’s one Harry has worn. He sprays it with Harry's cologne and fits it over his pillow. Lights out, arms and knees curled around it, he holds it in a tight embrace. His hand lowers and barely moves in his underwear, before the scent works it’s magic. He drifts, pretending that his hand is Harry’s. It carries him over the edge. On long trips away from his husband, this is the only way he can fall asleep.

* * *

I've been told that this fits in nicely with Janieohio's series: [https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559218?fbclid=IwAR3LERN2AZgnmheNc7WAEBXpmMVQqvxrQ9-8cbkG19IU2cTkUdWuwmcfR5c](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559218?fbclid=IwAR1IznYUmHI3BYnIh_dbjyrUDmaAn4SS3_izfX__rKBgcqImYV37UGuLXPI)


	14. Parking Lot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco needs to ask for help more often. AU, Post Mpreg. Inspired by Tom's slender body and flat stomach.

Credit:

Sourced from getty images/Derek Steele photographer

* * *

It’s hot. Hotter than he thought for early spring. He wishes he’d parked closer to the mega store. Heat ripples across the asphalt. He feels like he has to swim an ocean of tar-based blackness to get to Harry’s car. He’s got groceries in one hand and the baby’s carrier in the other, and strict orders not to attempt apparating. It’s going to be a long walk. 

He doesn’t know that he’s being followed. He’s being appreciated. To Draco, he’s just doing his part to run errands. To be less dependent. Less broken. He insisted to Harry that he could do it. The day is beautiful. Why not get out and test his strength? Why not feel the sun on his arms and face? Merlin knew he wasn’t going to feel it anywhere else. He kept his body covered these days, having grown sensitive to his perceived defects. 

Three months recovering from a difficult childbirth, among other things, made him feel his imperfections acutely, though he still couldn’t convince Harry that he had any physical flaws. He couldn’t see himself walking across the pavement. He couldn’t see the way his shirt hung down his ribs and raked across his stomach, breezing down around his hips. But those who passed him could. They stared and he imagined it was because he was too thin. They must’ve sensed the effort his steps took, when it should’ve been effortless. It never occurred to him that they were staring at sunlight reflecting off of his hair, and questioning whether or not it was real. 

More than likely, they were staring at the baby’s carrier. He attracted a lot more attention when he carried her. He might as well get used to it.

He felt a tug of exhaustion. He’d stayed too long. He knew he wasn’t his old self, but he’d felt strong enough to take his baby outside. To pick up a few things from the store, maybe swing by to see his parents. Let them see how well he was doing. Of course he’d have to listen to them bitch about living like a muggle, but they were being really nice to Harry. They were making an effort. He found it amusing how his father practically sucked up to Harry these days, knowing there would be no seeing his granddaughter if he made one wrong remark. Harry had made that clear early on. 

It tickled him to no end how his father had paid a seer to produce the baby’s five-year old portrait from the future. As if he’d discovered a cure for world hunger, Lucius had shown it to Harry with complete self-adulation. 

“It might please you to know that she will look more like you as she grows older. Look here.” In the picture, he held a gleeful child with ruddy cheeks and dark hair. In the real present, his granddaughter’s hair was the color of his and Draco’s. If that didn’t prove how accepting he’d become, what would? 

Harry had been smart enough to let it pass. 

Draco winced. His shoulder hurt. His side hurt. He wasn’t even halfway across the parking lot, when he had to set the baby down and switch arms. She was lighter than the bags. And thankfully uncomplaining. But he had to get them both out of this heat. By the time he got to the halfway mark, he felt a stitch that made him gasp. When was that incision ever going to heal? The doctors had explained that even with magic, his internal lining was weak from the coma. The surgery had healed, but his organs were pressing it from the inside, keeping it sore. No matter, he was just glad he could walk again. He turned his face up to the sky, as blue as a blessing, and acknowledged how grateful he was. That humility was new. He took a breath and made his way to the car. 

Another ten yards, and sweat dampened his hair. As if she could feel his distress, Chrisaliss whimpered in her blanket. “It’s okay,” he whispered, to himself as much as to her. He had to admit, this was harder than he’d thought. It was just a jaunt across the pavement, yet his abdomen locked in protest. He slowed. He thought of setting everything down and going to the car, driving it back, and picking everything back up then. Certainly, he should’ve sat the groceries down. But he couldn’t back down from something so simple. If he messed this up, Harry would think he couldn’t handle the simplest chore and insist that he not drive again for another month. No way, he already had one father, he wasn’t going to suffer another, stricter one. 

He pushed his body forward. It was that next step that did it. It sent a pain so sharp up his side, that he froze. And in the next instant he couldn’t feel his feet connecting with the pavement. He dropped on purpose, before he fell, and the baby’s carrier landed harder than he liked, but safe enough. She let him know that she wasn’t happy about it. He comforted her, looking around in panic, to see if anyone had witnessed it. He didn’t need a bloody custody battle on top of things. 

A voice startled him. “Do you need help?”

He turned. It was a young woman. Actually two, on their way to their vehicles. She was pretty young, possibly still a teenager, but her instincts leapt forward before he could answer. She’d already picked up his dropped bag while he clutched the carrier. 

“I guess I do,” he reddened, but it had a pasty effect as he considered what almost happened. He felt sick. Her and her friend must’ve sensed that that was punishment enough as they picked up his scattered groceries for him.

He hated to ask, but he didn’t trust himself. And he couldn’t call Harry. He couldn’t. 

“Would you… Do you mind carrying my baby to that car right there?” He nodded at Harry’s flat black Mustang, bought to blend in, not to raise eyebrows. It was a stick, and he knew that once he was inside it, he’d have to swallow his pride and make the call. But he put it off as long as he could. 

The girl was smart. She didn’t let him off the hook so easily. “Sure, but can you even drive? Do you need me to call someone?” 

He shook his head. “That’s all I need. Thank you.”

She took the carrier, and he never thought he’d feel so grateful to have a total stranger helping him. He tested his legs, his footing, the pressure, and followed her. Once back inside the shadows of those cool leather seats, and waving good-bye at her kind smile, he let his head fall back and said to the visor overhead, “Fuck me.”

His legs were pins and needles. He couldn’t chance it. Okay, so his body had limitations. So, having this kid was more impacting than he could gloss over. Reluctantly, he dug into his pocket for his phone. If hitting that one fast-dial, meant being grounded for another month, his daughter was worth it. Thank Merlin for the kindness of strangers. 

He hit the button and waited for Harry to answer, all the while thinking, please don’t yell at me. Please don’t be angry. I had to see if I could do it. If I was ready to get on with life, with this baby. I had to try. 

How could he know it was too soon, if he didn’t try? He wanted to be strong for both of them, not helpless. He got points for trying. 

**** 

Harry waited across the parking lot. He jumped out of the car as soon as he saw Draco stumble. He knew what that grimace meant. Draco was hiding pain. He’d been careful to stay out of sight, letting him shop and think that he was alone for the past hour. Too long on his feet, carrying too much weight instead of using a cart. He would try not to yell at him for that. If those girls hadn’t stepped in when they did, he’d be yelling at him by now. Not because he wanted to. Not because he thought it was right. But because the sight of his baby being almost dropped, scared the shit out of him. Draco was that stubborn. 

He waited. His eyes smoldered, suppressing worry over whether or not Draco would start the car. If he did, he was definitely getting chased down and yelled at. His chest tightened over the select words he would have to use. It would be public and it would be bad. He’d have to say something that would make Draco never risk his health like this again. His doctor had said no driving for four months and nothing over twenty pounds, young man or not. 

_‘Your body has been through a lot. I know you want to get back to a young man’s natural athleticism, but don’t ignore its signals. Don’t pretend nothing has happened. Embrace and accept what you’re going through for your daughter.’_

Harry’s jaw clinched just thinking about it. His knuckles tightened on the stirring wheel and didn’t let go, until he heard his phone ring. He dug it out of his jacket. “Yes?” He hadn’t meant to sound so tight. 

“Harry, I hope you weren’t busy. I need you. You were right. I’m not ready.”

Instead of yelling in the phone, Harry held it to his chest and closed his eyes. He whispered a ‘thank you’ to whatever power had Draco coming to his senses and not starting that car. Tension left him, and the need to be of service, flooded in. 

“Don’t you ever think I’m too busy to help you. You did the right thing by calling me.”

He heard a rasp. “This is hard. Asking for help all the time. I’m not used to this.”

“Well get used to the Universe tripping over itself to help you. If you could do it all by yourself, you wouldn’t know how much I love you.”

Silence left him to think that Draco was choking back something he couldn’t say. Harry let him off the hook. 

“Hang on, I’ll be there sooner than you think. Love you.”

A sniffle. “Thank you. Love you, back.”

* * *

Note: This is a side bar to the previous Coma and Coming Home fics. I wrote it to cheer myself up. I’m told that my stories have too much introspection, as if I signed an agreement on how much is sufficient. It’s true. They do. That’s where the real story is for me, in _how_ people process what happens to them, not what happens to them. Off to write more. :-) <3


	15. Fire and Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What does it take to tame a Dragon?

Credit: Dhesia at deviatart  
pic fic  
  
[https://www.deviantart.com/dhesia/art/Draco-Malfoy-HPhbp-141951084](https://www.deviantart.com/dhesia/art/Draco-Malfoy-HPhbp-141951084?fbclid=IwAR0yDt2XBwaN9cCWPkU37tQa8rlqd5HuMENxHTg3_ybiNiHjF4hssSM4rpw)

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Draco is damaged goods. So elegant, so lost in his fury. Harry's deadpan stare can't figure him out, can't love him, and can't look away from all that wasted potential. He wants to save him and kill him at the same time. He has his mother's slender, icy perfection and his father's exacting demeanor. If Harry could tame all that erratic ice and fire, he'd have heaven and hell in his grasp and in his bed. But what does it take to get a Malfoy against the wall? A slippery, untouchable prince. To hold him still long enough to get his attention, open his mouth and slip inside? Make him see that he's better than this. He could be.   
  



	16. 20 Years Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One night in New York, two wizards have chance encounter.

  
Credits:

Draco: Caroline Edwards at etsy.com

Harry: Asha @ https://www.deviantart.com/asha47110/art/Happy-38th-Mr-H-J-Potter-HP-757707693

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A chance meeting,

New York City is wet and cold, but Harry promises hot coffee at his place.

\--

They can only drink so much coffee. Not Draco's first choice, but he wasn't ready to leave the warmth of Harry's company, for a cold taxi. Not just yet. And Harry was being so nice to him. Nicer than he'd ever been in school. Nicer than he deserved. When 1:00 AM rolled around, they both knew he wasn't going anywhere. Those green eyes begged him not to.

When he didn't stop Harry from kissing him, he knew he was in trouble. He didn't know how to say no, or if he really wanted to. By the time his lips, blistering, were released, he no longer knew why he wanted to. He let himself be pulled by the wrist, and followed Harry into his bedroom, as if he knew what he was doing.

He didn't mean to lie. He didn't mean to give the impression that he'd been with a man before. It was just that, if he ever had the courage to do it, why let anything ruin his chance to have it be with Harry? If there had to be a first time, who better, than the wizard he'd been obsessed with his whole life? Now was not the time to get all nervous and honest and blow it.

He tried to be brave. But he closed his eyes and refused to face it head on. The act. Penetration. He wanted it, but it was too overwhelming a thing to stare at. Like looking down the barrel of a gun. When Harry took off his jeans, he couldn't believe what he was seeing. In tufts of ferociously black hair, all tender silk and bullet emergence, asking to be touched, straining to reach him from roots of thick darkness that grew up Harry's belly.

Draco had to steady his nerves. It wasn't just seeing it, but knowing what Harry wanted to do with it. Where they both knew it was going. When Harry pulled him across his sheets, he simply held on.

Desire and panic clashed like titans in his mind, making him press closer, digging his fingers in, while squeezing his eyes shut against the sight. Visuals weren’t what he needed. He needed heat, touch, and those arms wrapped around him like pythons.

Harry’s back, a canvas of naked skin, gave locomotion to each grind, steamrolling his intent into him. Instead of opening his eyes and looking, he let Harry’s muscles tell him what was really going on. They told the real story, moving like pistons beneath Draco's hands.

He clutched, his palms reading the swells and plains of those sinews like brail. Strength in Harry’s spine, strain in every ligament, became a concert of twisting determination, and told him what he needed to know. Harry wanted this. Wanted him. It was terrifying to be wanted that much, and that’s why he couldn’t face it.

It wasn’t just that he wasn’t attracted to men. Not to men. Just to Harry. It’s just that he never dreamed this one could want him so much. Harry saved his life. Saved his family. If this was all he wanted, then Draco gripped him harder and willed him to take as much as he could.


	17. Pale Blue Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco tries not to be seen.

For Vanessa Munro Bontempi

Credit: Charlie Gray/Sharp Magazine

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Draco ducked, turning his back quickly. Hiding behind a column. Hiding from those eyes. He bit his lip and cursed himself for being too slow. He only wanted to look. A peek. This was his mansion and his party, after all. He was expected to join his guests on the lower floors. But here, on the highest terrace, he had the view to himself. He could survey his perfect grounds and smiling constituents, without the annoyance of them looking back. That was his treat to himself, after twelve long years of building a name for himself and finally being elected Minister. He deserved this summit. But one look at those eyes, and he was down there on the ground again, beneath them. Lower than them. No matter how high in position he rose, he always felt he was looking up at Harry.

He hadn’t really believed that Harry would come. He'd had to dig the invitation out of the trash bin repeatedly, before letting his receptionist mail it. He hadn’t believed that Harry would take him seriously. That he’d changed. He wasn’t ready to face all of that again. He didn’t have to. He knew how to rise above it, but he forgave so much, that when he caught a glimpse of Harry, all those empty places that were once filled with resentment, flooded with what he really thought about him. So fucking handsome. He just wanted him. It was so strong, so front and center and inappropriate. That desire wasn’t apologizing, and it could humiliate him at his own party.

He had to go down there and greet Harry as a professional, and not let anyone see his hungry eyes beg for what it wanted. After all these years, he thought he was safe from that dull gaze, that always got its way. He thought he was adult enough, responsible enough, respectable enough, to be free from Harry’s gravitational pull. That fucking popular hero, at whom the world threw whatever he wanted. It hit him. These people weren’t here to celebrate his campaign win. They were here to see Harry fucking Potter, and now he had to go out there and pretend to be okay with it.

He had to pretend that he wasn’t the founder, president, and CEO of Harry’s fan club, and that if lured into the shadows with him, he wouldn’t drop to his knees in his formal robe, scuffing his shoes, and stuff that pale blue crotch into his mouth on the spot. Fucking baby-blue suit. What was he thinking? That he can just wear anything and look perfect? That show off bastard. He still doesn’t give a crap about anything but himself. Having to live up to that hero legacy, has obviously sharpened his ability to tell the world to kiss his ass, without him having to say it.

Draco heard it. Loud and clear. That one peek. Harry had looked up and caught him. Seen him. Really? Potter can stare around in boredom for ten minutes, but the minute Draco tries to steal a glimpse from above, the git has to choose that one specific second to look up? He wasn’t imagining it. Harry was just as tuned to him as he was to him, and the moment was coming when they’d have to talk. They’d have to fake it for the crowd and the cameras. But that look, the one Harry lifted to him, all world-weary and hungry for something dark. Something exciting. Something highly irresponsible. His slouch on the banister even said it. ‘I see you , Malfoy. I don’t care, I could take you right here. You can’t hide up there, in your ivory tower, forever.’ 

To everyone else, Harry must’ve been a well-dressed presence, but the look he reserved for Draco, a monster’s scaly tail whipping out of the water too fast for others to see, practically lifted him off his feet and set him back down. That was just a warning, Harry's eyes had said.

Even now, he could hear his name being whispered. ‘Come out, Draco. Don’t hide from me. You can’t.’

Okay, maybe this was all in his mind. Just nerves. Stress. It takes a lot of energy to constantly maintain this level of professionalism. He had a lot to make up for. His mind was playing tricks, just because Harry was good looking. But that’s all. He could admit that without going crazy. Just go on greet him. Get it over with. You’re not a child, you don’t have to fear what excites you. Face it and let it go.

He took a deep breath, ready to do just that. But… it was the kind of excitement that had him afraid for his position and status. Afraid of himself, and how much he wanted to be wanted. Even after all these years. He’d worked so hard to make those feelings change, and they hadn’t. Now that they weren’t schoolboys anymore, using immaturity as an easy excuse, there was nothing to protect him from what he really wanted. What that look in Harry’s eyes knew he wanted.

Get a grip, Draco! Sober. It feels this way because it’s never been resolved. Your feelings grew with his fame and your need to atone. You owe him nothing. He’s mortal. Stop putting him on a goddamn pedestal. Now go down there and shake his hand, have a drink, laugh at what gits you both were, and move the fuck on. He can’t read your mind and he has no power over you. Show him. Show him!

Draco moved away from the column. He smoothed his robe smartly, ready to take back his authority and his party. Pausing, he turned his gaze down to the terrace below.

Harry looked up and winked at him.  
  



End file.
